


Bulletpoint

by regsregis



Series: Breaking your habits [7]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, for once i have nothing to warn ya against except for maybe all the sugar n fluff sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 21:39:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10750335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regsregis/pseuds/regsregis
Summary: It takes place maybe a year after Bulletporn, and is where the story ends.Written as a prompt @ tumblr but accidentally turned out really lengthy so hell, why not post it me thinks.I also may or may not have taken offence to all the comments about me writing 90% foreplay and 10% actual fucking so here I am, trying to prove myself in y'all's eyes. (no, joking, no offence taken lmao)





	Bulletpoint

Jack runs his fingers, almost lovingly, over a box in his pocket, and by now, he knows its shape by heart, the soft velvet it’s covered in and the cool metal of the hinges. About the length of his palm and half of it in width, irritating in its size that doesn’t exactly fit into any of the pockets without being a constant reminder and irritating because it still just -sits- there. 

One missed opportunity after another, even though he’s been keen to get rid of it and get it out the evening it has been delivered.  
But then Rhys comes home in a bad mood so Jack only shoves it deeper into his pocket.  
The longer it’s there, the more at home it makes itself, the harder it gets to find the right words, to pick the correct phrasing out of the jumble that only expands over time.  
It’s not that he’s hesitant, the answer to his unspoken question having always been there. From the first guarded ‘okay’ to the warm breath of a ‘yes, Jack’ against his skin.  
It was a long time coming and he figures Rhys already knows where that road leads but then again, the man does nothing, passively letting Jack have enough space to figure it out for himself but also doing that annoying thing of his where he makes Jack come to him first. A sick, sadistic bastard, that’s what he is, irking the one man he shouldn’t, by trying to have him chase after himself. 

Jack thinks he likes him all the more because of that.

Jack thinks that’s also the reason he decks him square in the face when he’s halfway through working up the courage only to have Rhys say something stupid and ruin everything. He also thinks that he shouldn’t be the only one shouldering the responsibility that came with the box and so he’ll need to come up with a way of making Rhys, unwittingly of course, share his burden.

-II-

Jack’s been antsy and driving Rhys up the wall for the last couple of days by now, maybe a little bit over a week. It’s not the misbehaving or random acts of violence, he’s used to that. But the man acts as he’s been sitting over a firmly-guarded secret, Rhys can see it in the way his mouth curls around something unspoken and in the way his knuckles turn white with anticipation that never comes to any conclusion aside from an occasional punch. 

And secrets never mean anything good when Jack is concerned. 

He gets back at him by driving him up the literal wall, hands fisted into the front of his, Rhys’, sweater, thigh shoved between Jack’s, and the kiss that he pushes against his lips turns into a mean bite to the lower lip.  
There comes a mewl that he eagerly swallows, working with Jack’s stubbornness and working around it in the same way he works the zipper of his pants down. 

“What do you want me to do?” Easy as that, if the other man wants to keep acting up then so be it, here’s his way out because Rhys is drawing blank, wanting to help even though he feels there’s precious little he can do.  
With Jack it’s always either a)punches or b)sex but when it just so happens that c) joins the puzzle, the man is clueless, so the answer is to figure it out with a) and/or b) anyways. 

_“Think you’re doing great so far, pumpkin.”_ The voice rings in his ears but not in the space between them because there is none left, not with his fingers pushed between teeth bearing down on the metal, and pushing against Jack’s tongue, and not with the way his flesh hand palms at him through the thin material.

“That’s all?” If that’s all, then that’s also fine, he’ll have them work out some of that frustration and leave Jack to whatever no-good thing he’s been up to. A glimmer of light flickers closer and tearing his eyes from Jack’s flushed face to well, Jack’s more collected if also less substantial face proves to be a challenge, the sight too delightful to be abandoned for a threat of a smirk.

 _”Hardly the right time for anything more”_ The threat of that smirk doesn’t get realized and that’s as good of an indicator that the man is serious as are the half-transparent arms defensively crossed over his chest. For a moment, Rhys busies himself with how the skin on Jack’s neck feels against his lips, intermingling nips and laps of his tongue leaving a damp, lightly bruised trail.

“I’m trusting you’ll let me know when it comes?” Fingers tugging at his tie lead them deeper into the apartment and to the bedroom, various articles of clothing dropped along the way.

“Take me out someplace nice and we will talk.” Rhys thinks he likes Jack’s eyes two-toned best, the slight variation of hues on the hologram has never been able to actually catch that and so he fixes his gaze back on them, a shadow cast by his narrowed eyebrows. Rhys kisses the wrinkle between them.

“Fine. Now get this thing shut.” He jerks his thumb towards the hologram, Jack missing the movement as his face disappears for a second between the folds of the shirt he’s currently pulling over his head. He obviously doesn’t miss it, as there is a very much offended and every ounce ethereal ‘i’m watching you’ gesture before the shimmer dissipates. “I don’t want any unnecessary thinking going on here.” 

Jack is easy to be convinced, already working the buttons of Rhys’ own shirt open with the authority of a businessman taking over a rival company. He, however, slaps helpful hands away when dealing with the pants, still trying to desperately cling to his hips, pushing them down over the length of his thighs, material bunching around his knees and then catching at the ankles. It’s rare to see the usually careless man do something with such deliberation but whatever questions Rhys might have had, watching him fold -for fuck’s sake he didn’t know the man was capable of it- his pants, they evaporate as soon as he’s getting shoved down onto the bed, having already divested himself of any unnecessary layers. And in this situation all possible layers are unnecessary, a low rumble rising in his chest when he runs his palms over Jack’s thighs, hairs tickling against his skin.

Sat at the edge of the mattress and with a heavy, hot weight sprawled across his lap, Rhys wants nothing else but to bury himself into it, knowing well how good the other man felt around him, all angry growls of impatience and melting when the touch was just -so-. He wants to make a grab for the nightstand and for the bottle of clear fluid but Jack seems to have this angle covered, already working himself open and so Rhys covers all the other angles, hands coming up to tease over the straining muscles of his back and tongue lapping at the bobbing adam's apple when the other man swallows heavily.  
Mouthing along the broad expanses of the shivering chest, he ends up trailing higher and back to Jack’s slightly parted lips, tugging him back into yet another heated kiss, palms sweeping lower to where he can feel the curve of his ass and the shift of his hand. A few prods from his curious fingers have Rhys stifling a curse into the corner of Jack’s mouth. He’s already worked three fingers in and damn if the man isn’t anything but efficient. That might be enough to have him easily accommodate for the girth that’s coming without losing any of the delicious tightness and Rhys can tell how he’s still abstaining from angling his fingers, set rather on making a quick work of the task at hand, to have them both last more in the long run. That’s fine too and so he also chooses to keep his touches above the proverbial waistline for the time being, hands dropping back to knead at the arch of Jack’s thighs and letting a soft hum of appreciation brush over damp lips.

A shove against his chest has him scuttling a little bit higher up the bed, legs still hanging over the edge as he lays down, the hand still pushing down when Jack shifts with his movement, apparently deeming himself ready, and -sinks- lower, taking in one inch after another in one smooth motion. A shared hiss and a gasp between them, straining against his lips but freely slipping from between Jack’s. It’s hard not to play favourites in a situation like this but Rhys is still torn between loving the tight heat encompassing him and loving the intoxicating expression on the other’s face, the cant of his head, the cocky tilt of the corner of his mouth and the half lidded gaze. 

Jack bows down and Rhys arches up, drawn by invisible strings and by how he always ends up dancing to Jack’s tune, the moves are his own but the rhythm set by the other man. However, Jack only plays his irresistible melody when Rhys allows him to do so and he figures that’s how they are making things work, just as they are making everything work right now, a gentle roll of his hips chased with a more vigorous bounce.  
There are hands tangling into his hair, his head tilted back and throat exposed to insistent mouth and teeth leaving marks along the tattoos. He can feel feet worming their way under his thighs and so he spreads them that little bit wider, pressing down to give Jack some leverage, one that is eagerly taken, a drag of skin against skin sending his eyes rolling back. An up and down motion, slow and nearly sensual at first as the other man lets himself adjust to the stretch, quickly turning into something faster, more desperate, laced with deeply satisfied moans and huffs.

They’ve been here so many times before, tangled into each other and with kisses each like a car crash, that it feels almost domestic, something he doesn’t even mind calling this particular word, a routine they are well accustomed to but one that does not feel mundane.  
It’s as much about the give and take, unbalanced as it is, Jack giving him hell and Rhys demanding more, as it is about the push and pull, pushing deeper into the trembling warmth and getting pulled into Jack’s inescapable orbit. 

Lips give way to hands coming to wrap around his throat, their familiar weight doing nothing to take the frantic beating of his heart down a notch and so he returns the favour by curling his own fingers around the hard flesh between Jack’s legs, threatening to slip away every time the man fully seats himself down and over Rhys’ dick and giving him something to press into on an upward roll. That seems to be working fairly well, brown and yellow eyes cracked open to meet an equally mismatched stare, and he watches a tongue dart over Jack’s teeth, a brief moment of clarity that can only foreshadow another of his ideas. And true to the expectations, he’s soon pulling back and up, rolling over with a small sigh.

“Come on pumpkin, time to earn your keep.” 

That borderline arrogant voice is enough to prompt a growl from him, roughly shoving at the other man until he rolls again, splayed flat front first on the bed and with a hand at his neck keeping him pinned down.

“My -keep- Jack?” Rhys hisses into his ear, pressing closer so he can rut over the other’s ass without pushing back in and getting a way too pleased purr in return. The salty taste of sweat clings to his tongue as he runs it in a long stripe along Jack’s spine, peppering a few possessive nibbles over the bow of his shoulderblades. “-You- are my keep.” And with that the purr turns into a keen, bodies slotting back together as he drives himself in, both of them on the homerun by now. 

It was supposed to be short and dirty but now it turns feral and Rhys thumbs at the port he knows will send shocks through the body wrapped around him and this time down Jack’s spine, the only friction allowed coming with every forceful thrust sending the man sliding back and forth against the fabric of the linen. Jack tries sneaking one hand under his body, his wrist immediately snatched in a vice like grip of metal fingers, lack of more solid stimulation drawing urgent whines from him. 

“Down.” A stern command and there is something dangerously thrilling in watching this particular man writhe under him, even more so that he knows it’s a mutually shared feeling. There is a half hearted attempt at more squirming but Rhys is having none of it, leaning down to place more bites over freckled shoulders, inching closer to the sensitive flesh at the nape of the other’s neck as he inches closer to his release. 

A strained hitch of a breath, a stutter of a heart and he tumbles over the edge, with his tongue firmly pressed against the warmed metal and nose tucked in the shorter hair at the back of Jack’s head, feeling like he’s dropping down an incline and grounded only in the reality of Jack’s strangled moan, muffled against the bed and briskly following his hips coming to a brief still. He’s certainly not above giving a few more rolls and some lazy nips and kisses just to feel more shudders wrecking through the man in his arms, which, in return make -him- hiss when the pressure clamps down on the flesh still buried in that overwhelming heat. 

Even as he pulls back, he’s followed, with an arm wrapping around his chest and with a couple of hums of deep satisfaction. Call it the heat of the moment, or stupidity, but Rhys presses his face into the crown of the other’s head, little murmurs slipping his lips, words mostly off-handed but carrying that underlying tone which came with spilling one’s heart. It’s good and it’s warm and he hopes he’ll get to keep it for the rest of his life in the same way he keeps Jack close right now, the skin pressing to his side sticky but that’s just part and parcel of the man as a whole. 

-II-

The awkward hop-and-waddle to the bathroom happens to be one of Jack’s least favourite things and so he lets it be known to the culprit responsible for it, bringing out the hologram once again as his more tangible form disappears behind the door, cool water running down his body after a short while.

Rhys only meets the accusations with an unimpressed roll of his eyes and a lazy stretch, catching Jack mid-sentence and having him trail off when his eyes pick up on how his muscles pull with the motion and how the bruises curl around the angle of his neck. That’s enough of pause to have the other man interject his grumbling. 

“Promised to take you out, didn’t I? Well, how about we put on some pants and figure it out?” 

Curious eyes watch him later redress himself, following the pat of his hands against his thighs as he checks if the content of the pockets is still there. It is but at least he has tasked Rhys with getting the set and settings out of the way, so, Jack thinks, the rest should go smoothly. 

-II-

Apparently, taking him out and figuring things out meant, in Rhys’ world at least, having the two of them park the car in the middle of Pandora’s fucking nowhere.

“That’s… it? Pumpkin, Rhys, Rhysie, baby I have been hoping for a fancy restaurant with a nice view not…” Jack waves his hands in the general direction of well, the unimpressive everything around them, “...this.”

He watches the other man simply shrug his shoulder and with little care come closer to the edge of a cliff overlooking a valley. The sun is slowly setting down and Rhys completely disregards the expensive material of his clothing as he seats himself down on the ground, swinging his legs over the edge and patting the space beside him in an invitation. 

“It’s a good place for figuring things out. Used to come here more often. Here, take this.” As Jack joins him, pebbles digging into his backside and dust clinging to his hands, a wad of cash, high denomination only, is presented to him and he couldn’t be more confused. Even more so as he watches the other man pull a single bill and start folding it. “See that formation of rocks there? The point is to get at least one of them there.” A paper plane rides a soft gust of wind before making it about halfway through and plummeting to the ground. “Never reached it though, but in the meantime, I’ve managed to wrap my head around many things.”

Recklessly wasting stupid amounts of money? That certainly sounds like Jack’s kind of fun and a fine way of working things out. He stares down at the bundle in his hand, scratches his chin, fixes his hair and thumbs at the box in his pocket. Yeah, he thinks, he can do that, -if- he can manage to meet Rhys’ challenge and reach those stupid rocks, he’ll share his secret, if he loses, he’s chucking damn thing down the cliff.

They have burned down through a good portion of the money they brought with them and by now Jack’s hands nearly tremble as he furiously folds yet another paper plane, wings flicked and tail tucked to give it that extra edge and ensue his victory. Chalk it up to his competitive spirit but by now he has seriously started getting worked up over not winning and his hand strays to the pocket more often than not. 

Rhys pretends to not see it. 

It’s infuriating enough that in the brief moment as Rhys’ plane overtakes his, landing maybe a feet away from those damned rocks, Jack’s heart comes to a still and he figures it out.

Disregarding the rest of the bills held in his hand, he lets the wind scatter them down the cliff in a flurry of green, digging through his pocket, nearly dropping the box and more importantly its content, before presenting it to the other man.

A quizzical look is sent his way, metal fingers wrapping around the soft velvet and as Rhys takes it, he takes away all of Jack’s previous agitation.

The hinges give the softest of creaks as the figurative Pandora’s box is opened.

“That’s… well, that’s not what I was expecting. You in the habit of gifting people with severed fingers?” Jack throws his head back and laughs, easy and light-headed. He supposes that they are even now, although this particular finger will not rot and has not been given as a threat, smooth metal, matching with the design of Rhys’ right arm and with the paint job curling a different hue of bright gold against black in a loop just past the last knuckle. 

“Only if they are in the habit of missing both of their ring fingers.” A nod comes as a reply to his words and it could very well be a loud ‘yes’, hidden in the way Rhys picks up the detached digit, curling the finger still secured to his hand and temporarily fixing the new one in the empty space.

“Can’t really swap them right now, you know that?” Yeah, Jack knows and that’s fine and Rhys is also hella damn fine, lips curled in a nearly shy smile, long eyelashes casting shadows over pronounced cheekbones and with hickeys marking his neck. “Aren’t you a real romantic Jack.”

“Rings, kneeling and tear-jerking speeches are over hyped anyway. I should know, ‘ve done that twice by now.” That’s another thing he knows but doesn’t really, singling out fake memories among all those he has forged himself, worth maybe a little bit over four years and dotted with periods of latency but it’s a lifetime to Jack. He figures, it’s best to get some real life experience to double check those pesky memories. “Except you know, I haven’t. Never tied the knot, never wanted before, shame, innit? A guy like me, who wouldn’t want to marry the fuck out of me?” 

“Yeah.” Rhys breaths against his lips and it’s just like any other ‘yes’ he has given before, compliant enough to keep Handsome Jack placated and just on the right side of sure. And ‘sure’ is good because it means they are not only in the same story but also on the same page. “Yeah Jack, let’s fix that.”

Rhys tastes like an ashtray and curls his fingers over the angle of his jaw just -so- and you know, Jack thinks he really likes this stupid kid.


End file.
